Sometime Around Midnight
by Canadino
Summary: I want to see you break me in two. suggested onesided!8059


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

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It's eleven fifty-two at night and he can't sleep so he slips on some shoes and walks over to the local convenience store to get some smokes. The sky is dark, as expected for such a late hour, but he hears a deep rumble somewhere in the distance. The air is heavy and damp and the electric glow the store has is welcome from the dark shapes of buildings and houses around it. There is another rumble and Hayato ducks into the store before the rain comes, although the rain won't come for a while.

There's just something wonderful about convenience stores at night. They're awfully well-lit even though usually when one enters, it's practically deserted. The cashier on duty is reading a magazine and doesn't look up with Gokudera comes in through the automatic doors. Although he's there for a packet of cigarettes he doesn't make a beeline for the selection behind the dozy cashier. Instead, he picks his way through the aisles like he's never been in the place before.

It really ought to be this simple for someone his age; to go somewhere at night as he pleases without worrying about possibly being killed. Even now, he knows he is in Japan, so the guy at the counter probably won't pull out a gun he has been concealing, but you can never be too careful. Years of being immersed in the culture of the Mafia in Italy has heightened his senses – he can feel someone watching him but there's no one in the store besides him and the cashier. The crisps packets are obnoxiously bright and shiny.

He passes the coolers and the liquor and they brew things differently here in Japan. The vineyards at home are under the wide expensive sky and covert meetings could be make between the grapes. Shamal tells him they brew sake in buildings here and everything is precise, from the yeast to the amount of water, et cetera. The taste comes out orderly and cool.

He had a rich 1920s red back at the villa, but he was too nervous around black suits and ties to truly have appreciated the taste. And anyway, he had only been twelve and alcohol was an acquired taste.

But things are different here; to kiss at greetings is scandalous and Japan generally does not approve of nudity. People are modest and keep to themselves so when people are _looking at you_ it means something completely different, but Gokudera does not notice. For all the watchful training he went through when he was younger, he did not see what was right in front of him.

When he glances at the window at a sound, he notices droplets forming. Above the hum of the coolers and the undistinguishable pop music from the speakers overhead, he hears the sound of rain. The cashier glances over his magazine outside with distaste and wrinkles his nose. Gokudera remembers seeing a bicycle parked near the door; the kid is going to have a wet ride home.

His watch tells him it's twelve-o-five. He has a lighter in his pocket his sister gave him when he turned thirteen. She had the decency to mail it to him instead of giving it to him in person – for him, that is her being courteous. It has an ivory cover with the etching of a tiger; it's not a lion because no matter what, they are not supposed to be the kings. Once he was smoking on the roof and let _him_ play with it because it amused him. The flame flickered with each lighting.

Gokudera figures this sort of behavior is why _he_ decided to come out with it, since it looked like he had been responding positively when he wasn't really responding to _anything_ at all.

He takes a cup of sugared, colored ice because high fructose corn syrup might make him feel better enough to fall asleep.

He peruses the magazine racks to see anything interesting, but he already has a subscription to the Italian car magazine and there's a lot these days about subcultures and poppy girls with big eyes and revealing outfits. He doesn't care much about music. When he looks up and out at the dark, rainy outside, he thinks he sees a shadow but it might just be the light. Another mouthful of bright blue ice comes up the straw.

Eventually, it's probably time for him to head home so he takes his drink to the counter and pays for a pack of cigarettes. The cashier does not check to see if he is of age. Cashiers nowadays don't really seem to care much, and this does not bother Gokudera.

He tears off the plastic wrap and deposits it in the trash next to the door. The automatic doors slide open and Yamamoto is standing outside in the pouring rain in house slippers, looking quite worse for the wear. He's got baseball practice tomorrow morning so he really shouldn't be out this late, much less catching his death.

Somehow this should surprise Gokudera, and he knows it, but it doesn't.

He stands under the small shade the convenience store's roof provides him and does not offer a spot for Yamamoto, but he doesn't think the idiot would take it anyway. He shakes a cigarette out of the box and reaches for his lighter. The flame flickers irritated by the damp surroundings so it takes a little longer than usual to light the embers, but when it glows orange, he takes a breath and asks, "What are you doing here?"

Yamamoto's face is serious, like it normally isn't, like the time after school in the stairs when he just blurted it out like it was coming fine to say in normal circumstances. There had been no trace of smile there. There's rain dripping from his dark hair and it makes Gokudera shiver like it's something he doesn't remember. He should have bought one of those cheap, plastic umbrellas but he really doesn't want to go back inside.

"I wanted to see you."

_I wanted to see you break me in two._

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Note: HAHAHA fake angst, because I am actually incapable of writing angst. I haven't written for Reborn in ages, but 50 prompts is 50 prompts. I honestly love these two but why can't I write them…! Thanks for reading.


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